


Never Enough

by Mother_North



Series: The F1 series [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Introspection, M/M, Memories, Mentions of Blood, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, POV First Person, Psychology, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: It was never enough of you, Ayrton.
Relationships: Alain Prost/Ayrton Senna
Series: The F1 series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007253
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Never Enough

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fic on Senna/Prost, so please bear with me.
> 
> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

**

The day was blinding, scorching sunrays beating relentlessly from above; life celebrating itself with each breath of spring air taken. I thought it was cruel – the last act of mockery, a stark contrast between grief-stricken, tear-smeared faces of mourners and blue skies gazing at the funeral procession as unperturbed as ever. I remember the smooth, varnished lid of your casket; it was warm to the touch – the farewell kiss of your native São-Paulo sun. I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply, trying to imagine your bloodless face against the whiteness of the hospital sheets: devoid of the touch of life, devoid of colour, as you were lying there completely still. I often asked myself whether I’d have dared to have a look, if I had been given a chance. Instead, Gerhard was there on that fateful day.

It seemed as though my world tilted off its axis as the Tamburello corner had claimed your life, extinguishing fire in you forever. I used to ask _your_ God numerous times: _why_ and He never graced me with an answer.

Insomnia was gnawing at my sanity at nights and your intense black eyes were haunting my everyday existence. I listened to the calm and even breathing of Anne-Marie next to me, cursing myself for the unfaithfulness of my heart, for I _loved_ you still, like a doomed man would love a tight noose around his neck, like a mortally wounded would seek salvation in a gulp of poison to finally end his torment.

I felt torn, my conscience aching not only from the realization of my absolute readiness for infidelity, but from the fact that I regretted bitterly not ever tasting your full lips, not ever feeling your sun-kissed skin beneath my fingertips, not ever finding out what it was like to be scorched by your passion.

You thought I despised you, you thought I was too weak at times and perhaps it’s true. You made me feel utterly powerless against my own forbidden desire.

_For you._

Memories are like venom that makes me die inside a little, but I treasure them nevertheless, because how can I not to..? Those long, sinful eyelashes of yours against the freckled skin of your cheeks, those tumultuous dark curls and plump lips that you liked to worry with your teeth in moments of utmost concentration, nervous energy ready to burst out any given minute.

You were so full of life… It still seems unthinkable that it had somehow gushed out onto the ground of Imola circuit, seeping and seeping out into an enormous pool of crimson blood – a ghastly testimony of your mortal nature.

“He is invincible,” they used to say, pulled into your orbit by the force of your gravity. I succumbed to your deadly charms myself, although the period of deep self-denial was way too long.

 _Suzuka, 1990._ You slammed into the back of my racing car from behind in an act of rebellious recklessness and I had my heart thumping in my throat, my clammy hands clutching the steering wheel in a deathlike grip, a wave of nausea suddenly washing over me.

_Egoistic bastard._

I squeezed my eyes shut, shallow breaths filling my constricting lungs with much needed dose of oxygen. I could barely believe in the sheer audacity of your deed. You were ready to take me with you to Hell, weren’t you? I wanted to run to you right there and then: to grab your shoulders and shake violently, to scream into your smug face of a madman just one question: “What is your precious God going to say about all of this?!”

As I am looking back now, it all seems so childish and stupid and meaningless.

But the scariest part was that I never wanted you more in my whole life. It is a paradoxical and a baffling realization that had shaken me to the core, yet that night I dreamed of your strong hands and ruthless lips; crushed by humiliation and overwhelming arousal. It was perverse and it made me nearly throw up, the sickening and intoxicating thoughts of giving in and simultaneously claiming you driving me nuts. The interchanging images flashing in my mind were plagued with raw want: I saw my bony fingers grabbing your narrow hips hard enough to bruise, as I was pushing inside you frantically, my forceful thrusts making you moan, your melodic voice laced with desperation, as you were biting into the sweaty skin of your forearm.

_Deranged._

I came into my fist almost painfully hard, a torturously intense orgasm sweeping over my whole body. Afterwards, I was lying totally spent on the crumpled bedsheets, shivering and feverish.

It had never been the same ever since.

I avoided looking at you, I avoided you altogether… I hid behind my shallow smiles and downcast eyes masterfully while burning down to ashes; a feeble voice inside my brain never failing to mock me in my _useless_ love:

“You are a pathetic coward, Alain. Don’t you dare look him straight in the eyes? Don’t you dare lay your soul bare? Don’t you dare disarm him with your frightening honesty? Strip your guards away, Alain… Do something!”

_Shut up._

I buried my face in my hands, ready to howl from the inner despair you were causing me. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to sink my teeth into your vulnerability – I saw it perfectly clear, behind your tough façade and veneer of self-confidence, verging on cockiness. You used to hide inside your shell to hurt less, shying away from the people around who seemed to want a piece of you. Of course, you knew how to give and not only how to take and there was one thing that fascinated me the most – your unshakeable desire to give more than anyone else, even if it meant going beyond the limit; extreme danger always chasing you down, death itself lapping eagerly at your footprints.

You were racing with your doom, we all were and ultimately it had chosen you to crop as its harvest. Back then, I would have never thought that it would be you. They say that the best are to go away first and, after all, you have always wanted to be _the first_ , haven’t you..?

I choke on a bitter laughter as it escapes my thin, dry lips. Anne-Marie sighs heavily in her slumber and I study her dear features intently. She has always loved me incomparably more than you ever did. You never even did in the slightest, to begin with…

_We miss you, Alain._

Your words are echoing in my head again and again, vivid and relentless. I like to imagine your lips pronouncing them, corners of your stern mouth slightly curving upwards. I would have wanted nothing more than to taste them from your tongue, let them pierce my chest and sink down into the very bottom of my aching heart.

There’s a dull pain inside; a vicious, never-ending cycle of “never-have-beens”: of words not said, of embraces not shared, of feelings never brought to the broad daylight. I cling to the scattered pictures of you in my brain – they are stored on the dusty shelves of my memory and my biggest fear is to find them gone one day.

_I’d never let this happen, I promise._

The gaping void you have left in your wake seems irreparable, but I am trying to patch it up dutifully: slowly learning how to live in a world without you, the understanding smiles of my wife and boisterous laughter of my children filling it up, and yet it is not enough.

I turn to the side, sliding my arms around Anne-Marie’s petite form gently. I close my eyelids, a lump of bitterness bringing stinging tears to my eyes.

I tramp on shards of my broken heart. I swallow down my sobs threatening to disturb the stillness of the room.

_It was never enough of you, Ayrton._

…And it never will be.

**


End file.
